Christopher's Medal (33 page)

Grace’s cheeks burned. There was enough testosterone in the tack room to bottle and sell somewhere.

“I realize it, don’t you worry.”

“Good.” Billy picked up a saddle. “Because if you didn’t…”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks, Billy.”

“It’s only because Grace wanted me to be maid of honor and I didn’t fancy wearing a dress. Do I have to get dressed up?” He looked, hopefully, at Grace.

“A suit will be fine. It’ll be nothing fancy. We get married in the registry office at Palace House and then we come back here for food and drinks at the big house. Apart from the staff and our families, there’ll be no one else.” There had been great excitement from Christopher’s family. She had heard Sally’s squeal of delight when Christopher phoned her, and she had been in the kitchen at the time.

“Thank Christ for that, I didn’t want to have to try and find a morning suit.” He kissed her cheek. “Congratulations, Gracey. He may be a fuckwit, but he’s all right, at least he’s got good taste.”

“I won’t argue with that.” Christopher took Grace’s hand.

“Thanks, Billy.” She smiled at him as he walked away along the yard, in search of his horse for second lot.

* * * *

“Are you sure about this?” Grace’s father asked while they stood outside the door of the King’s Bedroom where Christopher, his family, her family and other guests waited with the registrar. “You know it’s not going to be an easy ride, Gracey.”

“I’m sure, Dad. I know it’s not going to be easy, but he’s like a habit. I can’t kick it now. I love him. We’ll see it through, somehow.” She straightened the skirt of the dress. It was the same one she’d worn for the race at Ascot. The black rose on the hat had been replaced with a red one, and she carried a bouquet of red roses. The scent of the flowers rose to meet her as her father opened the door. She took a deep breath and took her father’s arm.

Late afternoon sunlight spilled through the large window at the far end of the room, it fell across a carpet as scarlet as the flowers she carried. The guests stood up, but Grace wasn’t paying much attention. She looked at Christopher as he stood in front of the registrar in a black suit, with a rose in his lapel. His eyes were brilliant when he grinned at her. Something inside flipped over and she smiled back.
My God, he’s beautiful.
He really is.
She took his hand when he held it out to her.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you,” she whispered back. Her fingers wound through his.

The ceremony began and Grace remembered to repeat the words in all of the right places. She loved the simplicity of it all, the fact that a few words could bind them together. It had never occurred to her to have a huge wedding with music and flowers and catering headaches. It was just easier to get it done quickly without all the fuss because the end result was the same. After the words, she held out her hand when Christopher slid the ring onto her finger then held out his hand for her to do the same. She felt foolish tears when the registrar introduced them as husband and wife and their guests stood up and applauded when he kissed her. His lips were warm and he trailed his fingers along her jaw, a stirring echo of their first kiss. She felt hope rise within her for the first time since his return. There were no ghosts in his eyes when she kissed him back.

* * * *

“It’s not what I’d call a proper honeymoon,” Christopher said while they lay side by side on the bed. The evening was too warm for sheets or duvets. “When I asked you to marry me, I’d hoped that we’d spend it back in that cottage, bonking each other senseless.”

Grace turned on her side to look at him, pale in the thin light of the half moon. “It doesn’t matter. We can bonk each other senseless one of these days.” She wanted to touch him in a way that would remind him how things once were between them. Instead, she rested her hand on his chest, spreading her fingers so that she could feel the familiar rhythm of his heart beneath her palm. “This is good. It’s a nice way to end our wedding day.”

The guests had long departed. All that remained was the flowers, in a vase on the dressing table, and an empty bottle of wine and two glasses. Her hat was a white ghost, hanging from a corner of the mirror.

“Really?” His voice was clouded with doubt.

“Really.” Grace edged closer to him and sighed against his skin. The scent of juniper stirred a host of memories, all of them good. “I don’t deny, I’d love it if you made love to me, but I can wait. I’m just happy that we’re here, together.”

“Thank you.” He gathered her into his arms. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much I missed just being in bed with you. Everything we had seemed like a world away. I’d lie on the cot at night and stare at the ceiling and ache for you.”

She knew all about the ache. “But you had my T-shirt.” She smiled at him in the darkness and touched his face.

“It was a poor substitute, Gracey. It’s hard to summon someone into your dreams when you’re surrounded by snoring squaddies and the occasional gunshot from some Taliban fuckwit who’s bored and playing with his rifle.” His lips were warm on her palm as he held her hand to his cheek.

“They took shots at night?”

“They never bloody stopped trying to get at us. You know that shower? That was version two. The first shower block was blown to bits by a mortar.”

“I never realized it would be like that. Mind, I refused to watch the news while you were gone. I was just too scared.”

He laughed softly and kissed her hair. “Perhaps it’s just as well. You would’ve been worried.”

“I was worried enough as it was. I really have no idea what it was like for you.”

“Rough.” He rolled over and his eyes glittered in the darkness.

She curled up in the space he made for her. “I’m sorry.”

“I was always glad that I was too late to have to serve in Northern Ireland. My dad served there and he hated it. He hated being somewhere where no one wanted him. Where everyone hated him, or was suspicious.” His leg covered hers. “It ended up being the same over there. There were days when the villagers would speak to us and there were days when they acted suspicious and edgy. That’s when we knew the enemy was close by. Sometimes, they wouldn’t speak to us at all. They were afraid of reprisals. There was one lad…” He paused and tightened his hold on her. “He’d been beaten publicly in the market place, as a warning to the others, not to collaborate with us. They were told that anyone who was caught passing information to us would be killed and their families banished.”

“That’s dreadful.” Grace kissed his throat.

“It was.” He curled his fingers into her hair and clung to her. “Thank Christ for you, Gracey. If it wasn’t for you…well…I think of Mark sometimes.”

“You’re safe now, darling.” She held onto him and stroked his hair while he trembled against her. “I’ll make sure of that.” It wasn’t how she’d imagined their wedding night, but it didn’t matter. She reached down, pulled the sheet over them both and fell asleep wanting him.

* * * *

“Right.” Grace prodded Chris’ shoulder. She hated to wake him, but she’d decided that his new therapy started that morning.

He rolled over and opened one eye. “What?” His voice was a sleepy rumble. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’ve decided it was time you earned your keep around here. Remember, when you came back I said you should work in the yard? You start today.” He was warm and rumpled with sleep and Grace wanted to kiss him.

He propped himself up on his elbows. “What time is it?”

“Four o’clock.”

“In the morning?”

“Yes.” She climbed out of bed and found a pair of jeans. “Time’s a-wasting. Come on, darling.”

“Grace.” He sat up and ran a hand through his hair. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“No. Find yourself some clothes you don’t mind getting filthy. I’m going to put the coffee on. You’ve got ten minutes.” Grace fled before he could object.

“It’s still dark.” Christopher stumbled into the kitchen.

“Yes, it usually is at this time of morning in September.” Grace handed him a mug of coffee and watched him while he slouched against the counter.

“What will I be doing?”

“Mucking out.” She sipped her coffee “I’ll teach you. You’ll be fine.”

“You seem very sure of that.”

She loved him when he was like this, half-asleep and compliant. “I am.” Grace kissed the corner of his mouth.

He set his coffee down and pulled her into his arms. He was still warm from bed and his sigh was soft on her skin. “Couldn’t we just go back to bed?”

It was tempting. She leaned into him and wished ‘bed’ meant more than just sleep. It was enough that he held her. It was progress. Grace inhaled the scent of his skin and let her hands drift to the small of his back. “No, we can’t.”

“Cruel woman.”

“It’ll be better than physio.”

“Since you put it like that.” He kissed her cheek. “I’ll give it a go.” His hands fell away and he reached for his coffee once more. “You’ll show me what to do?”

“Every step of the way.”

It was fucking cold. Christopher followed Grace across the gravel, blinking when the security light clicked on, flooding the wide yard with brilliant light. It went off only when Grace turned the main lights on. Horses stirred in their boxes with a rustle of straw and soft whickers. The only horse he recognized was Allonby. Christopher stopped to rub his nose.

“Come on!” Grace flung the tack room door back. “No time for lollygagging, mister.”

He looked down the yard at his wife. She stood in the doorway, light spilling around her, hair already tumbling from beneath her battered baseball cap. There was no one else who could’ve persuaded him to crawl out of bed at such an obscenely early hour on a chilly autumn morning.

She opened the feed room door and started flinging buckets on the floor. “We’ll feed them first. You can help me until Dave gets here.”

Christopher stood in the doorway and watched Grace. She scooped feed into the buckets, the pellets rattled against plastic and outside, the horses made anxious little noises, accompanied by ominous thumps against stable doors.

Grace slid a bucket across the floor toward him. “Take this to Allonby. Just tip it into his manger. Don’t worry, he has very good table manners, he won’t rush you.”

That was easy enough. He picked up the bucket and walked back to Allonby’s box. The colt nickered when he turned on the light and slid the bolt back. Allonby stood patiently and waited for him tip the feed into the corner manger. As soon as Christopher backed away, the colt was at the manger, attacking his breakfast.

“Bloody hell.” Christopher headed back to the feed room.

“This one’s for Gormless,” Grace told him. “He’s in the box next to Al’s.”

“There’s a horse called Gormless?”

Grace laughed. “No, that’s just what we call him. He’s just stupid. Just keep your eye on him when you go in there. He likes to crowd people at feeding time. He won’t bite or anything.”

That was scant comfort. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” She smiled at him and he realized he would’ve jumped into a shark-infested pond with a bucket of chum for her.

* * * *

Grace rubbed Allonby’s cheek while her father walked around him. He paused to pick up his foreleg and examine his hoof.

“What do you reckon, Grace? Do you think he’ll win the Sprint Cup?”

“He’s in good nick, Dad. Billy’s been happy with his work, but you know that.”

“Now, Gracey, assuming the big fella here wins the Sprint Cup, what do you reckon to a run at the Breeders’ Cup?”

She gaped at her father. “Dirt or Turf?” The yard had never had a horse that came anywhere near Breeders’ Cup class. The Breeders’ Cup was for superstars. The prize for either race was a million dollars.

“Turf.” He slapped the colt’s broad, gleaming rump. “Close your mouth, before you catch a fly.”

“I don’t know, Dad. That’s a huge thing. What does the General reckon?”

“You know the General, he’s up for anything. He definitely likes the idea of going to California in November.”

Grace stared at Allonby, who stood quietly in his box, resting his off-hind leg while he dozed. It seemed impossible that this unassuming, sweet-natured creature would race on the world stage. “So, you’re going to enter him for the race?”

“Nothing ventured and all that.” He grinned. “It means you’ll have to run this place for a couple of weeks, unless you want to go.”

“No, I’d rather stay here.” She thought of the hassle, the press attention, leaving Christopher. November would be quiet and they needed the peace that winter would bring. Her father was the one who had brought the colt to this point, in any event. “Chris and I, we need our time together. He needs time, Dad.”

“I know.”

“Anyway, you’re the one who’s done all the work and I hate being interviewed.”

“How is Chris, anyway?”

“He’s coping.” She unclipped Allonby and removed his head collar. “I’m hoping that him working in the yard will help.” She smiled at him. “Don’t worry, Dad. It’s nice being married.”

He laughed. “Today was his first day, wasn’t it?”